


chains

by alphaqueer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphaqueer/pseuds/alphaqueer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek walks in.<br/>Sees Stiles.<br/>Sees the chains.<br/>Loses it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	chains

Stiles hadn’t wanted this. Or rather, he hadn’t known that he had wanted this, but now that it was happening, it was beyond erotic. The warm tongue of his lover conflicted with the frozen binding around his arms, eliciting all the groans that were expected of him. He was bound to the headboard, naked and nude, his skin gooseflesh from where his beau was blowing delicate kisses up and down his body, whispering words of filth and pure worship, professing deep love and corrupt desires. He was delirious and heady with arousal and was finding it difficult to focus on anything but his own staggered breathing and the rough lapping and kissing he could feel move down to in between his thighs. He called out, a coarse bark of the other’s name; he could feel himself reaching a tipping point.

Derek let out a warm, clipped chuckle as he wrapped a hand around the other’s length, coaxing a pained gasp and causing Stiles to arch into the grip.  _Not yet_ , he said simply and moved forward to climb and straddle his body, licking his way up his abdomen and chest, over his throat, biting softly until he was panting hotly and thickly into his ear. It had been two hours of edging, two hours since he had found him sat on the edge of his bed, unclothed, the shackles and chains covering his modesty. He hadn’t needed to say anything; he had raised his head as he walked in and Derek had almost been winded by the scents of anxiousness, lust, desire and anticipation. A smirk had ghosted Stiles’ lips when, swallowing thickly, Derek’s expression had betrayed him.

He was so very horny and frustrated and no matter how many times he expressed his desire to come, bucking him hips forward and cursing Derek out, Stiles was refused. His sight blurred as he began climaxing and within seconds, the sensation was stifled by Derek, cooing and nibbling and kissing. It was sensational and painful, a combination to which he was now used but with the addition of restraints tonight, he was impotent and it felt exhilarating. He was putty, Derek the sculptor, and he was shaping Stiles into the precipice of the greatest orgasm ever. Stiles was aware, he just didn’t know how long he could last before he became aware of the soreness of the collar around his neck and the dashes and bruises around his arms and wrists.

Watching him come undone underneath his body was a sight, but Derek was loathe to admit he was close himself. Each time Stiles came so near to coming, Derek could smell it – practically taste it – so perfectly that it was torture incarnate. Their bodies were slick to touch with sweat. Their lips were both swollen from bites and sucking; Stiles’ mouth was almost red-raw with stubble burn. His fingertips were tingling from having caressed every inch of the boy beneath him and he knew that within the next few minutes, they were both going to be dizzy in a post-coital comedown, breathing airy kisses into lazy open mouths, muttering sugary sentiment and that was enough for Derek’s eyes to hood darkly. Through lustful lips, with a dark, heavy tone, he told him,  _I can smell myself all over you. You’re mine._

He was done for. But he had known that the minute he’d seen Derek approach, ruby fire in his eyes and excited energy becoming more prominent as he had advanced. They had exchanged no words; Derek had taken the chains in his hands, toying with them as Stiles had backed up the bed. A few moments later, Derek had straddled him, as he was doing now, denim jeans scuffing Stiles’ bare leg. Stiles had looked between them both, taking in the vision of the clothed god above him and his own pale body, and found himself salivating at the contrast. Of course Derek knew how to chain someone up - he was an Alpha - but the confidence he had worn as Stiles had watched both of his arms get laced to the bed was enough to send all his blood south permanently. Hours later and he was undone by a whisper.

Derek licked his hand clean, staring him down as he savoured the rich taste of Stiles. He watched the rise and fall of Stiles’ chest as he swallowed the last smear of come from his fingers, and pulled himself up next to him, removing his jeans in the process. Their mouths met with breathless passion and they exchanged delicate, sticky kisses, getting more and more fervent and urgent as Derek started to climax. Stiles’ lips withdrew and just as Derek was about to open his eyes and ask a wordless question, he felt a bite so raw and sudden that it pushed him through his own orgasm. A roar filled the room as thick ropes of come shot over the two of them, endless cords marring Stiles’ chest and Derek’s vest. He was purring softly as he began to master his breath; he felt his fangs as he licked his lips and silently willed them away.

The air was hot and thick when Derek finally moved to remove the chains. Stiles was loose and chilled, his body lax and electric. Unspoken between them was the decision to not instantly run off and bathe, and instead, after Derek removed his vest, they fell into each other, filling in every space and crevice. He felt a familiar hand trailing a familiar route across his body, following the path of redness and bruises the chains and binds left, massaging them so well that Stiles’ purred. He heard Derek smile, not needing to turn around, and as he felt himself slipping softly into slumber, he caught a warmth coming from, not the wolf at his back, but from his very core.


End file.
